The Nightingale and the Skylark
by Rosette Leclair
Summary: What if, at the moment of Erik's birth, fate had another plan for him? What if he was not destined to be alone? What if Erik's poor, unhappy mother had given birth to not one child, but two? Eventual E/C. Based on Susan Kay with elements of the ALW musical. I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera.
1. Birth

**A/N: I like reviews. A lot.**

_Madeleine_  
>The midwife was yelling, screaming at me to push. It was agony, but I had to do this. And so, I called forth all my strength and energies to bring my child into the world.<br>"It's head is out!" The woman called to me excitedly, and I pushed a final, horrible time.  
>A loud wail pierced the air. I looked up mechanically at the midwife, waiting for the words I was so desperate for. They never came.<br>"It's a girl," she said triumphantly, and the sob that nearly escaped from my lips was halted by another guttural scream. Good Lord, I thought this was over!

"Looks like you're going to be having twins, dear! You are a lucky woman, a lucky woman indeed! You may get that boy you wanted, after all. Think of it, Madame! A son and a daughter! Two daughters would be nice too, I suppose, but think of that an push!"

_A lucky woman indeed,_ I thought bitterly. If only Charles were here.

"Oh, dear it's breached! You're going to have to push harder!"

Harder? Was that even possible? I felt so sleepy, so incredibly tired. I wanted to give up. The smell of blood and my daughter's wails filled the room. I didn't think it would hurt this much!

"Madame, really! You have to push!"

I did. I pushed with everything I had left in me, hoping for a beautiful baby boy to remind me of my precious Charles. I gave my final push and then fell back against my pillow, looking like Hell I am sure. I expected to hear another childish cry to join the child's that I had already bore, but all met my ears was silence.

Silence.

I had always hated silence as a child. I was spoiled, and had absolutely no patience. I hated to be left alone with my own thoughts, which usually reflected my intense boredom and irritation at not have someone's words, mine or anyone else's really, filling that suffocating void. I half expected Hell to be an empty room where one could make no noise, no sound. No need for flames or ice, that total emptiness was hellish enough for me.

It was silence that greeted me. Silence too deep and horrid for even the strongest souls. I was so sure my second child was dead, stillborn, whatever term you want to give it to attempt to lessen the pain it brought. Perhaps it would have been better that way, if he had just died then. Perhaps it would have caused less grief if I had simply been left with my daughter. My beautiful, perfect daughter. Even she had the decency to fall quiet as though some surreal, undeniable force bid that everyone pay some respect to the tragedy that had just begun to unfurl.

It was my boisterous midwife who spoke first.

"You, girl," she pointed an almost accusing, but trembling, finger at my frightened maid, "go get the priest. I fear we may need him immediately."

The girl did not need to be asked twice. She bolted from the room like a hounded deer, and I already knew that she would not be coming back.

"Here," she muttered tremulously, thrusting the girl child into my weak arms. "Hold her."

I bit my lip nervously. "Is it...is it..."

"Dead?" She sighed heavily, fiddling with the edge of the threadbare shawl that hung limply about her shoulders. "No. Not yet, anyways."

More silence.

"Is...is it a...a boy?"

She looked up at me strangely, with a strange mix of pity and...disgust?

"Yes," she murmured, "it is a boy."

I swallowed and continued worrying my lip. "Let me see him," I managed after some time.

"Madame, I really don't think that is a good idea."

"Please," I whispered piteously. "Please.

She shook her head sadly and, crossing herself, picked the silent infant up from where she had promptly discarded it in the pretty new crib I had bought.

I will not even call the thing that looked at me so pitifully, so imploringly, he. It was a horrible, hideous creature. I was reminded with ample fear and horror of a corpse, rotting in a tomb somewhere. But this thing was alive. It blinked at me solemnly, almost pityingly. It was impossible, terrible. It should have been dead. Dear God, why wasn't it dead?

The door opened then, and my eyes were torn away from where they had been fixed on the thing's, on my _son's_, face in morbid fascination.

"Father Mansart," the midwife acknowledged. She did not say anything about my maid's absence. It seemed to make perfect sense that she should flee while she still could. The priest took my son in his arms.

"It hasn't cried yet," my midwife piped up. "In his state, that's probably a good sign. He might not live to see morning."

The priest glanced at me sharply. "Have you thought of a name?"

I forced back a sob. There was no way I was naming this repulsive creature after my, dear handsome Charles. I waved a dismissive, albeit weak, hand.

"Just...just..." My voice faltered lamely. "Just name him after yourself."

The man turned to my midwife, who only shrugged. "Very well. I baptize thee Erik, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." With that, pushed the creature into my unwilling arms, and wrenched my perfect girl from them. It was a truly revolting exchange.

"I suppose you do have a name for the girl," he said dryly. She had taken the new rising tide of voices as her cue to start again with her ear-piercing shrieks. I nodded grimly. "Name her Charlotte," I whimpered.

"I baptise thee Charlotte, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

He returned the girl to me, and I struggled to balance both children in my arms. I could have cared less if I dropped the wretched boy, but I feared that would not be a good thing to do in the presence of a priest.

"Madeleine," Father Mansart said slowly, "God asks us to be compassionate. You must show kindness to your son if he lives. Please. It is the only way to guarantee the salvation of your immortal soul. Madeleine," he growled loudly, "Madeleine, are you listening to me?"

"Of course," I muttered listlessly. "Of course."

He only shook his head. He and the midwife left together, the door closing softly and the life seemingly being sucked wholly out of the room. I was left in the flickering half light that the lanterns provided with only my thoughts and my two children, one wailing relentlessly and one terrifyingly quiet. One perfectly form and one utterly hideous. I noted, with a tremor of anxiety, that their eyes were the exact same shade if brown, so light in color they appeared almost golden. They also sported identical tufts of spidery black hair.

If only he had been normal, there would be no question that they were twins.

If only he had been normal, things could have been very different.


	2. Envy

**A/N: I live! Okay so this chapter takes place before Sasha dies, just so you know. And that's it. Sorry this took so long. Remember, though, reviews fuel my writing. So review please : )**

_Erik_  
>"Erik, please open the door!"<br>I sighed, lowering my book of architecture reluctantly. "Go away, Charlotte!"  
>It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that Mother hated me and adored my sister. My pretty, perfect sister. She wasn't allowed to play with me, to even be near me, and she knew it. I did not want to play with her anyway. She was a stupid girl. It still hurt, though.<br>"Please? Maman is at church."  
>Another thing that bothered me was the fact that she didn't have to wear a mask. Maman told me that my mask kept the monsters away. I saw one of those monsters once, in the mirror. Maman yelled at me, told me it was my own fault. She told me that I would be safe, that the monsters couldn't get me, as long as I wore my mask.<br>I still had scars from breaking that horrible, revealing mirror.  
>"I'm going to hold my breath until you let me in!"<br>Charlotte didn't have to wear a mask. Charlotte didn't have to put up with the suffocating and chafing piece of fabric. Charlotte didn't have to worry about monsters. Maman loved Charlotte.  
>There was a loud thud that I could only guess came from my door.<br>With another heavy sigh, I lay down my book and crossed the room. With a moment's hesitation, I opened the door.  
>Charlotte fell into my room, her fluffy skirts tripping her as she rushed to make it in before the door shut in her face again.<br>"What's this?" She scampered oner to the table where I had created a maze of mirrors, constructed from random shards of glass I had taken from Mother's hand mirror.  
>"Nothing," I muttered as she toyed with the bits of glass.<br>"It is too something," she trumpeted happily. "Please show me!"  
>I sighed, walking over and lifting one of the fragments so that the light was transmitted to each reflective surface, creating a light beam trail.<br>"Magic!"  
>"Yes," I smirked triumphantly. "Magic."<br>"Can you teach me?" She chirped eagerly, staring at me with interested golden eyes.  
>I let the room fall into silence, the twisted smile leaving my face as I looked at my sister. She was garbed in bright scarlet with bits of gold lace and trimmings aplenty. Her wild black curls were captured in the largest red bow I had ever seen. Maman had turned her into her own personal dress up doll.<br>"No."  
>Her face fell immediately, and a tremor of guilt passed briefly through me. She had learned not to argue. I tried to remind myself of how Maman treated her so much better than she treated me, how I had every right to hate her, but my childish mind wanted nothing more than a companion, simply someone to play with. And here she was, oh so eager to just spend time with me. Why shouldn't I take the opportunity?<br>I chewed my bottom lip anxiously. I wanted a friend, true. But she was spoiled enough already. Did she really need me to submit to her whim?  
>Oh how I loathed the brat! It was her fault, all her fault! If she had never been born Maman might have loved me. But no, she had a perfect child already. She didn't need a boy who attracted monsters everywhere he went and had to wear mask to keep them away.<br>"No!" I said again, though she had not responded. She blinked at me, her eyes beginning to fill with tears, before running from the room.  
>Who cared if she left? I certainly did not! I did not need her. I did not need anyone.<p>

_Charlotte_  
>Erik never wanted to play with one ever did. I only had my dolls and Miss Marie and Maman. Maman wasn't much fun, though. She never liked to play dolls with me. She only liked to spend hours in the morning stuffing me in various frills and telling me how she had wanted a boy instead. When I asked why she was dressing me so prettily, she said she had a right to take the tiniest bit of enjoyment she was able to squeeze out of her children, and, on her good days, that a pretty child should naturally be dressed prettily. When I pointed out that Erik was as boy, she would fly into a mad rage, screaming and sometimes even hitting me.<br>I did not understand her at all.  
>In one instant she was berating and abusing my brother, in the next she was spending hours at a time hovering over him while he played piano or studied with his special tutor. I didn't get a special tutor. Maman taught me only what she knew, and our sessions were far from enjoyable and enriching. It wasn't fair. Erik got everything, and I got a room full of dolls and frilly things and no one to play with.<br>Miss Marie was not much of a better companion than my Maman. She was so easily frightened, and terribly skittish. I snuck up on her once, tying to surprise her and she screamed so loudly that both Maman and Erik had come running. My meek apology earned me a serious scolding and, after Erik was sent back to his room, a whipping.  
>Strangely, Maman treated me better when Erik was around. When he was watching, she spoke sweetly and praised me lavishly. She hardly ever acted that way otherwise, save for when Father Mansart came.<br>I sniffled, wiping my nose on my bed sheets. If he wouldn't play with me, I would find someone who would.  
>Sneaking out was easy, as Maman was not there to keep me locked up in the house. It was forbidden for either my brother or me to leave the house; Erik had gotten into quite a bit of trouble before when Maman found that he was sneaking out at night. But I wouldn't let her find out. I could be every bit as sly as my elder brother.<br>I barely made it through he gates of he garden before a possible playmate approached me. He was a boy of about eleven or twelve, with a narrow face and beady eyes. He looked up from playing something in the dirt as the gate closed behind me and immediately rose up, flanked by two others. They stopped a few yards away, almost as if they were afraid of coming any closer. The ringleader, obviously the bravest I the pack, folded his arms accusingly. All hopes of finding someone to play with were dashed with the hateful narrowing of his mousy eyes.  
>"What's he look like?"<br>I took a step back, my hand still on the gate. "Who?" I asked, confused.  
>The boy liked back at his friends, clearly amused by something. He turned to face me again wearing a wicked smile. "The monster, brat. That's who."<br>I was clutching the gate desperately, pleadingly, now. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."  
>"My mother said that a monster lived here. Well, you've obviously been inside. What does the monster look like?"<br>"I bet she's the monster's sister!" Said one of his cohorts.  
>"How can you tell?" Said another.<br>It was then that the leader's eyes lit up brilliantly with such revelation. His grin widened horribly. "You can tell," he hissed, "because of her eyes."  
>I looked down at my feet, fear and panic building up inside of me. What was wrong with my eyes?<br>Meanwhile, their voices had begun to grow in volume and viciousness as they eagerly hurled insults at me.  
>"Monster girl!"<br>"Demon born!"  
>"Have you the blood of the devil in you, too?"<br>"Don't get too close! She'll burn you with her evil eye!"  
>The leader took a step nearer as my shame grew to new heights. I knew now that they were talking about Erik, and in ways that my mother usually referred to him, but I could not imagine why. "You never answered my question, brat," he growled dangerously. "What does the monster look like?"<br>I bit my lip and tried to stop the tears from coming, but to no avail. I should have run away and slammed the gate shut behind me, but I was paralyzed. And then, after a moment of terrifying silence, it was no longer insults they were throwing, but stones.  
>"Go back to where you came from, demon child!"<br>"My Maman says you and your brother were sent straight from the fiery pits of Hell!"  
>It hurt.<br>They used whatever they could scoop from the ground the quickest. A stone grazed my cheek and I felt a little blood trickle down my cheek. My mind began to shut down, blocking their screams and the pain that came with them. I hardly even noticed when a deeper voice broke through he cacophony of shriller ones.  
>"Get away! All of you!"<br>The boys scattered as a pair I brawny arms pried me, with great difficulty from the gate. I blinked up at the figure hazily, trying to place the face.  
>"Father Mansart?"<br>"Hush, child," he soothed, scooping me up in his arms and beginning to carry me into the house. It was then that I really began to sob.  
>"Don't tell Maman!" I cried.<br>"I have to, Charlotte," he murmured calmly. This only served to make me more upset.  
>"Are you hurt?" He asked upon entering. My fingers came up to trace the cut on my cheek.<br>"Is it just your cheek, then?"  
>I nodded dully. He set me down on the sofa in the parlor.<p>

"Where is she?"

He glanced my way as he wet a cloth to clean my scrape with. "Your mother?"

Again I nodded.

"She is still at Mass. I thought I should come by to check on you two. I am glad that I did."

He settled on a chair opposite me and began to tend gingerly to my cheek.

"Will you tell me a story?" I pleaded suddenly, desperate for a distraction.

"Would you like to hear a tale from Genesis?"

Painfully I remembered what the boys had called me. I shook my head, preferring not to hear about the wrath of God whilst the idea that my brother and I were Devil's spawn was still in my head.

"A fairy tale."

He looked at me sternly. "You know I will not."

Fresh tears scalded my cheeks, and as I looked to the slightly opened door, I imagined that another pair of golden eyes was staring at me with curiosity and, underneath the mask of jealousy and hatred, concern.


End file.
